Days of Black
by patchesanguigena
Summary: In the wake of a new war, old secrets arise. Threatened by an unknown foe and demanding answers to her past, a solitary girls succeeds into dragging herself across the English Channel to a place she'd love to forget, an absent father, and what may be the


**Days of Black**

**Chapter One: Lost Memories**

**By: patches**

Author note: (I don't own HP, J. K. Rowling does.) Warning: story will contain character death, violence and much more in later chapters (including R/S slash, but that's a ways off…) Ah. Chapter one finally up, this is a rewrite of a previous story idea which has since been, uh, well, deleted with a passion. So enjoy the brand new DoB! It's much better than the last! Many thanks to my wonderful Beta-reader, this story would have never gotten this far without you. Reviews (good or bad) of course are welcomed and encouraged. Chow till later!

_Lose a memory, lose a life._

_When there's nothing left,_

_what is there to do?_

_…But start anew._

-------

"Portkey number twenty six, London to Rome, will be departing in five minutes. Last call Portkey number twenty six."

"Now arriving in queue twelve—New York to London."

"Please make sure you are touching the Portkey," a witch garbed in an official-looking uniform addressed a group of witches and wizards waiting in a roped-off area. "Do not remove your hand from the portkey at any time during the trip." She shook her head pityingly. "We just had a poor couple last week who ended up splinching themselves. Poor dears." 

"Does that happen often?" Travis Worldis queried, glancing over to his Senior Advisor. Both men were perched on broomsticks hovering over a giant mountain of pillows known as a Poof Queue. There were big pillows, little pillows, square pillows, and decidedly oddly shaped ones. The sole purpose of the mound was to catch the falling bodies of arriving Portkey passengers. 

"Uh... Pretty much." The Senior Poof Attendant briefly lifted his gaze from the clipboard he was busy scribbling on. "You'll get used to it." He dismissed it with a frown. The senior wizard had been even more distracted as of late with the heightened security measures being put into place.

It had barely been two weeks since the world had been rocked by the news of the return of the Dark Lord. Tension and fear were running high among the Wizarding community and the Ministry was doing everything it could. Even Travis had dutifully taped the Daily Prophet household safety checklist that his mother had sent him to the 'fridge and ran through it every night. He told himself not to worry. After all he came from a Pureblood line. Not an exalted one, but pure all the same. Still, there was that the unnerving matter of Uncle Morris, who had married a Muggle.

Travis found it much more preferable to linger over what a hell his profession life had become. Personnel at any Ministry Office, including the International Portkey Center, had nearly doubled overnight. Wizards and witches well into the years of retirement were taking up their old positions. Security monitoring Portkeys—private and commercial—had tightened drastically. Supervisors were now expected to approve every person coming and leaving the country, and all employees had to check in with the head office to file reports hourly. Add in surprise inspections of the employee quarters and Aurors looming everywhere and it made even the simplest of work difficult.

Travis grumbled. He had been so thrilled about this job at the London International Portkey Center. He had been so pleased. He—a graduate of Nuffmoors Academy of Magic—had a job at the largest Portkey Center in Western Europe! To Travis, there couldn't have been an easier job than watching tourists fall on their 'duffs all day. Pompously, he had assumed that he'd be promoted to a more illustrious position quickly. A position with lots of travel involved, the perfect way to fulfill his childhood fantasies of being the dashing adventurer traveling to far-off places. 

But there was no glamorous travel; in reality he spent most of his days on an ancient broom. And as far as the grand adventures…well, the most exciting thing he'd seen was a surprise bag check by Ministry officials. And all he'd done was follow the senior attendant, who had been pointedly ignoring him.

He worked twelve-hour shifts, during which he had been hexed, cursed, and oh...Merlin only knew what else. Travis shuddered; he had already had a run in with one hex-happy passenger today. But on the plus side, the cute nurse in sick bay had assured him the side effects would wear away in a week or two.

"Worldis, go patrol the Poof; the group from the Paris should be coming in..." the Senior Poof Attendant looked down at his pocket watch expectantly, smiling as a loud pop sounded and dozens of forms dropped comfortably onto the pillows, "...right about now."

Sighing, Travis swooped down, hovering just a few feet above the pillows and their occupants. Other Junior Attendants joined him, each patrolling a different part of the mountain. Security had been heightened drastically overnight; there were more Poof Attendants assigned to each station than ever.

"Welcome to London Portkey International"—Travis spouted off the familiar spiel as was required with every new arrival—"serving the public's Portkey needs since 1912. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to the Customs Queue. Your baggage can be reclaimed after you have provided sufficient identification." And as normal, no one really paid any attention to the directions. Most of the arrivals were too busy straightening their robes and hats, or waiting for the side effects of the Portkey to wear off. 

"Move it along please," Travis said, waving a group of dallying wizards to the Customs Queue. "Please, no dawdling. Move in a quick and orderly fashion to the Customs Queue."

"Momma, that man has horns!" one small girl whispered, tugging anxiously on a harried-looking woman's coat. 

"And no staring at my head!" Travis added, glaring furiously. The girl's mother huffed and hauled her daughter down the pile of poufs, complaining under her breath about rude attendants. 

"Hey Worldis!" Travis tilted his head, looking over his shoulder. Fin Stuart, another Junior Attendant, had stopped mid-route and was hovering on his broom, looking decidedly queasy.

"What is it Stuart?"

"We got a blackout here!" Stuart's face was as white as a sheet. Travis grimaced. Stuart never did handle blackouts well; no doubt he'd be the one stuck dragging the passenger off to Sickbay.

"Who is it?" Travis called, directing his broom over; if he hurried he'd have some time with that cute little nurse before the next set of arrivals…. Maybe he'd ask her out....

Stuart, meanwhile, was completely oblivious to the idiotic grin that had spread over his co-workers face. "Some kid." Stuart's face was tinged a nasty shade of green. "A girl. She looks like she's dead or something."

"Don't be stupid." Travis sighed, flying over. It was teenage girl who looked decidedly worse for the wear. "She's just passed out; happens all the time." Merlin, he was starting to sound like his Senior Attendant. Becoming a Horklump farmer was looking better by the second….

"I'll drag her over to Sickbay," Travis told him, glancing at the giant clock on the wall as he landed on the pillows. "But you'll have to watch my sector. We have another group landing in fifteen minutes."

-------

Humans, or at least most sentient beings, have the distinction of possessing an internal self record. They are the impressions left on the mind by past events, a storehouse of everything ever experienced by a person. Memories are a source of influence, a self guidance system born of trial and error. Her first and only memory was the irritating Poof attendant hovering over her looking irrevocably cross. 

Customs had passed by in a blur of muddled sights and sounds. The only thing she could recall with some clarity was the nurse's assurance that it wasn't uncommon for a first time Portkey-er to go into a state of shock. It was simply the after-effects of the dimensional pinch that allowed such a great distance to be traveled in mere seconds. She had been sent off with a Pepper-up Potion and the reassurance that the after-effects of the Portkey should fade within the hour.

But hours later, after she had reclaimed her luggage and left London Portkey International, there was still a huge blank spot where her memories should have been. She had racked her brain furiously, trying to evoke even one image from her past—a place she'd been, someone she'd met. But there was nothing, no trace of anything familiar.

The lights in the train buzzed irritably, flicking on and off, sputtering one final time and dying. Lights lining the vein-like network tunnels of the underground looked like blurs from inside the dirty windows. 

The train car was empty except for a few late stragglers—a lady in curlers and a housecoat, a teenager sleeping under a stack of newspapers. It was separate from the outside world of busy London above, a secluded pocket in reality where time ceased to exist. She could think here, be left alone to her thoughts without any disturbances from the outside world.

She was a witch, but she couldn't find her wand anywhere. Her name was Sidney Mirkwood, or at least that was what she preferred to be called. She was sixteen years old, and she wasn't feeling very patient right now. But that was where any knowledge of her past ended. It was a small condolence that she had retained practical skills, like the use of her magic, even if she didn't know how or where she'd gained them. 

The contents of her pockets had revealed little. Once again, she sifted through the items she had spread out on her lap, eagerly hoping to catch some clue she had missed before. 

There was her passport, with its curly writing in green ink and the postage-sized picture blinking owlishly, though the movement was barely discernable against the blurry grain of the photo. A few gold and silver coins were mixed in a haphazard jumble of francs and pounds. This trip must have been planned for some time if she had three different kinds of currency on hand. The only other thing that remained was a scrap of folded parchment.

Carefully unfolding the thick parchment, she traced a finger again over the hastily scrawled directions. _Leaky Cauldron, Charring Drive_ was the only part of the messy writing that Sidney could discern in the bad light.

Sidney leaned her head back against the hard surface of the window and closed her eyes, trying to ease the headache behind them. One more piece of information to add to the puzzle; how much did she have to work with now? She had her name, and that she was a witch. She had somewhere to go—The Leaky Cauldron. She wasn't totally in the dark. That knowledge should have been comforting, but rather it disturbed her. 

It wasn't as if she had lost her memory at all. Sidney twirled a strand of her long hair, trying to contain her frustration. True, any recollection of people, places or events were conspicuously missing, but everything else was untouched. It was almost as if just those memories had been removed—plucked from her brain. Something about it didn't seem right; was memory loss supposed to be so… irregular?

A vague pattern stirred in the back of her mind, but before she could grasp at it, the doors to the train slid open to allow new passengers entry. Barely containing her patience, Sidney watched as a group of new faces loaded onto the car. The last two stops had yielded no new passengers but this stop was busier. The train was half-full now. There were still three stops left until she would be within walking distance of the cheap motel she had looked up in the phone book.

Annoyed, she glared at the man in the business suit complaining loudly into his cell phone. If only she had a wand...Sidney's fingers itched, and she focused pointedly on her lap trying to suppress the urge. How easy it would be to make that damn phone a permanent fixture. 

She really wanted a wand.

"Did you see that freak's face?" Sidney cast a sideways glance, lifting her eyes from her lap to the entrance of the car. A group of men not much older than her had boarded the compartment. She ignored them as she had the other passengers, hunching further into her jacket. There was two more stops left before she could get off….

The group was laughing as one of them reenacted something. "Thought the poor thing was going to start crying!" One of the men jeered, rubbing his eyes in a mocking gesture. His companions burst out laughing. Sidney felt a wisp of sympathy for whoever they had tortured; hopefully they hadn't been hurt too badly hurt.

As she warily surveyed the cruel delight on their faces, Sidney was struck with another urge for a wand. It occurred to her that she was on the tube system, in the middle of the night, alone.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! _

They were all dressed in nearly identical clothing, mostly worn jeans and zipped sweatshirts like the one she was wearing, but the sleeves of theirs had been hacked off at the shoulders, proudly displaying the identical tattoos on their biceps. They weren't just ordinary tattoos, Sidney realized, looking away quickly, her blood chilling as she stank further in her seat. They were gang marks.

"Poor little freak," the man telling the story sneered, "He'll never be able to show his face there again."

_Freak._ The word echoed in Sidney's brain, leaving the impression of something decidedly vile and dark behind. Hating the way it made her insides clench, Sidney pulled the edges of her jacket closer. Renewing her effort to ignore them and not draw attention to herself was the only thing she could do right now; however much she hated it, she was defenseless. 

"Move your trunk." Sidney lifted her head; the business man with the cell phone was glaring at her, his hand over the receiver of the phone.

"Excuse me?" 

"Your trunk." The man motioned with his cell phone. "It's sliding over into my legs." He frowned. "Move it."

"No," Sidney hissed, eyes narrowing as she threw a quick glance at the group of men. They were watching the exchange with a predatory interest. "You have plenty of room." He was three seats down from her after all. She wanted to yell at him; tell him off for being a stupid wanker who was about to get them both mugged.

"Stupid Tourists," the man snapped. "Always rude—" His tirade was stopped short as a hand clamped down on his shoulder in an iron grip.

One of the gang members, a towhead blonde with dark highlights and a painfull looking nose ring, was towering over them.  

"Now that's no way to treat a visitor to our fine country," the blonde smirked, clenching his fingers into the man's shoulder, making him wince. 

"It's no problem," Sidney broke out stiffly. "Jerks will be jerks." She forced an easy smile. "I was going anyway; this is my stop," she lied. Quickly, she stood, grabbing for her trunk as the doors to the train snapped open. Walking a few blocks didn't seem as bad as it had a few minutes ago, especially if this gang was armed. Weapons could complicate things a notch.

The compartment doors clipped shut in her face and Sidney was thrown back as the train jerked forward. If someone had not grabbed her arm, forcing her up, she would have fallen flat on her face. When she saw who had a grip on her, she wished she had just fallen instead.

"Well now," the blonde purred, "looks like you'll be sticking around for awhile after all." He was leaning into her personal space, forcing her back against the closed doors of the train.

"Let go of me," Sidney hissed, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. But he was stronger than his thin form belied, and all she succeeded in doing was nearly dislodging her shoulder and pulling him closer.

"Hey there, Sweetheart, no need to be so bitchy," the man admonished, looking back at his friends with a smirk. "We're all friends here, after all."

_Friends. Yeah right_, Sidney scowled. _More like muggers. She grimaced as he hauled her around as if she were some sort of prize. His friends seemed to share his sentiments as they howled, whistled, and hooted._

"Isn't she just a yummy little thing?" He gripped her closer, cupping her chin and forcing her head up. "A bit on the scrawny side, but you got to take what you can get. Right boys?" His gang laughed as he shrugged his shoulders.  

A quick glance around told her the other passengers weren't going to be of any help at all. The only one who had even notice them was the man with the cell phone, and he was hunkering down behind his briefcase, too terrified to help her.

"How 'bout a kiss, Sweetheart?" The blonde was leaning in dangerously close. Disgusted, Sidney let her fist make solid contact with the blonde's jaw sending him reeling back.

"Bitch!" The blonde staggered back, the easy, slick demeanor gone, replaced with sharp edge that was far more dangerous. "You'll pay," He hissed, reaching for her. 

"Don't touch me!" Sidney jerked out of reach, falling against the closed doors of the compartment. She had landed a decent punch, she noted with an ounce of satisfaction. The blonde's lip was bleeding, and Sidney couldn't help but feel satisfied..

"Aw is the itty bitty boy hurt?" Sidney taunted, smirking. Her face was flushed and dirty but her eyes were bright. "Idiot malheureux, vous avez battu dans le tête à une fille!" However, her sense of pride was cut short as reality intervened once more

"Sweetheart. Shut the hell up." His gaze was furious.

"And what if I don't?" Sidney mocked, "Going to hurt me?" It was stupid and suicidal, but it was out of her mouth before she even thought twice.

"Oh?" He arched a brow. "And how are you planning to stop us if we do?"  Lashing out, he grabbed her shoulder and tried to haul her toward the group. She pulled back, throwing up her arms and twisting as he grabbed a wrist.

Wasn't it strange, Sidney thought as she struggled, grinning as her elbow connected solidly with a jaw, how some people seemed to have a predisposition towards certain tendencies? In the back of her mind, Sidney knew she should be frightened. She was outnumbered and alone. But it was more of a reluctant admittance than a real emotion. She wouldn't be scared, not now. Fear killed, and she wasn't about to be a helpless victim. 

"Hell if I know," Sidney said raising her fists, "But there's no way I'm letting you touch me again."

"Stupid girl," the blonde drawled, reaching for her. "You should just play nice with us now. Little freak," he added.

Sidney's control snapped, releasing a flood of magic. It surged beyond the bounds of her body, invisible to the human eye—or at least Muggle ones. Sidney didn't so much see it as she felt it; the air was charged, making the fine hairs on the back of her arms stand up. Driven not by the confines of a spell but by instinct, the magic sought out the wires that controlled the train's motion and speed. The sturdy mechanisms sparked and popped before finally dying. 

The train stopped with a shudder, filled with startled shrieks as many of the passengers were thrown headfirst onto the floor. The remaining lights fizzled madly as the dying squeal of the wheels coming to a halt faded into stunned silence.

Sidney didn't fall; her position against the door meant she was firmly braced between the gaps in the seats lining the walls. She stepped back, sagging against the doors for balance. Her assaulter, however, went sprawling backward, falling onto his friends and taking them down with him. The interior lights failed, pitching the entire train into darkness. 

The door of the compartment slid open behind her back with a sudden whoosh. Yelping, Sidney fell back, landing hard in a jumbled heap. Sidney watched as the lights inside the train flickered back on. Anger replaced the confusion on the blonde's face as he saw her through the window. Maniacally he pried at the doors, trying to force them open. Frustrated, he ended up turning on one of his friends instead as the train jerked back to life. 

Sidney stared at him screaming silently at her through the glass before bursting out into nervous giggles. They became full blown laughter as she collapsed back against the floor. She stayed there until she couldn't laugh anymore, and then she just lay there gasping for breath.

"I'm not a freak." Sidney murmured, stunned. Frustrated, she shut her eyes, blocking out the view of the crumbling tile ceiling, trying to ease the stinging behind her eyes. She would not cry. Crying did nothing, she reasoned, ruthlessly scrubbing at her face with the cuff of her jacket. Crying was a weakness, and weakness was just a type of fear.

_What a mess_, Sidney thought as she lay on the floor. Well, riding the underground in the middle of the night hadn't a very smart idea, she conceded lamely. A cab would have been a better idea, and safer. If her magic hadn't gone haywire at that moment…well, someone probably would've found her an alley come morning. 

Stupid jerks. Her nails scraped against the floor as she balled her fists. Calling her a freak. They were the freaks, she thought viciously, pounding the floor. How stupid could she have been? Going on the subway at night, and alone! And without a wand to boot! 

Sidney pounded the floor again, skimming the edge of the anger that rolled and boiled in her gut. Why was she here in London? Alone, no less! Would there be anyone to care if something _did_ happen to her? Or would she just lie in a gutter somewhere, forgotten and abandoned by the world?

Her voice echoed off the crumbling stone walls like a banshees. It was as close as she would come to crying—a slow keening, and mournful wail. Too many questions, not enough answers. Was she cursed to this half-life? 

Her voice didn't hold for long, but even after she could do no more than croak out the words she remained. The cold dampness that only comes from being underground seeped into her fingers, slowly traveling through her limbs. The sound of her breath was the only noise in the dark room. 

A rustling invaded her ears, dragging her out of her stupor. Groggily, she lifted her head to be met with a pair of small, beady eyes. Her eyes widened as the owner of the eyes squeaked loudly.

"WAHHH!!!" Sidney jumped up and fell on her butt as her heels caught on some rubble. The furry little rodent squeaked again startled by the commotion and ran back into the darkness. She watched it go with a shudder. Merlin, did she ever hate rats.

"There is no way I'm staying here a moment longer," Sidney muttered darkly as she lifted herself up. "Rats! Weren't things bad enough already? Eh bien rats aussi! This is giving me a headache!" Sighing, she rubbed at her temples. Maybe things would make more sense after some sleep and food.

Sidney didn't stop to take in her surroundings. Not that she could make out much of anything at all; there were no lights in the station. The only thing she could see was the outline of the exit from behind the boards that covered it. But it was obvious that this wasn't a normal stop on the tube route. The station looked abandoned.

Her trunk made a racket as she hauled it across the pitted surface of the once-marble-tiled platform. Once, this must have been a nice station with marble arches and tiling, but now it was abandon, filled with refuge and dirt. The turnstiles were broken, so she had to struggle to pull her trunk over the top of them.

It would be so much simpler if she could've just cast a levitation charm, but without a wand it was impossible. She would have to get a new one, and soon. But first, she needed a place to stay.  The Leaky Goblin, or whatever it was called, might have been a good choice. If she had known where to find it, she remembered as she hauled her trunk up the steps that led to the street.

The clock post at the corner said it was past midnight. Sidney collapsed on a bench nearby, hauling her trunk up beside her. She was tired. _And hopelessly lost, she added as she looked around and realized dismally that she had no idea where she was._

There was a few idle cars parked nearby, but otherwise the street was empty. Brownstone buildings towered over her, blocking most of the sky from view. The storefronts that lined the street on both sides were dark except for a few idle shops that were still open.

Kicking the heel of her boot off the sidewalk, Sidney frowned and pulled her jacket closer to ward off the nighttime chill. _This is great. Just great, she thought sourly. Lost, no memory, and no idea where the Leaky Cauldron might be. _

Discouraged, she leaned against her trunk and closed her eyes. What was the point in moving at all? She should just stay here; it wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. Finding the hotel would be impossible now, and she didn't have the strength to carry the trunk. She needed sleep and she needed food.

She couldn't do anything about the food this late when she was lost. If she had the energy, she would have tried finding someplace that served what might pass for food. But for the pittance of Muggle cash she had on her person, it wasn't worth it to try. Grumbling, she scooted closer to the trunk and folded her arms on top, using them for a pillow. Sleeping on a bench would not have been her first choice, but beggars couldn't be choosers. And if she couldn't have food, she would take sleep.

Sleep wouldn't come. The trunk was hard, pressing into her side uncomfortably, and no matter how much she twisted, she couldn't keep her legs warm. Then when she finally got comfortable a car would drive past, jolting her awake. Finally, she had almost fallen asleep when someone across the street started shouting.

Gritting her teeth, Sidney lifted her head, searching for the origin of the noise. Right across the street, tucked between a book shop and record shop, was a pub. A wooden sign on eyehooks swung noisily in the wind, and Sidney could just make out the lettering of the peeling paint.

A man appeared in the doorway of the pub, silhouetted against the light coming from inside. He was carrying someone, someone who was struggling. 

"And don't you come back until you can pay that tab, Mr. O'Malley!" He must have been a barkeeper or a bouncer. _Must be a lousy job—Sidney watched sleepily as he hailed a cab for the other man—__having to deal with drunken customers all day. _

She had noticed the pub earlier and had assumed that at this time of night it would be closed or nearly dead. But the cacophony of voices drifting from the open door suggested otherwise. If they were busy then they must have food, and maybe even a phone. She could call a cab and find a hotel.

Awake and filled with a new purpose, Sidney hauled her trunk across the street to the pub. She caught the edge of the door as a group of customers were leaving and managed to angle her trunk inside. 

The pub was packed full to the seams. The sheer noise made Sidney blink in shock as she took in the merry chaos surrounding her. Table were filled with laughing cheery groups, more tables had been pushed aside to make room for a makeshift dance floor. The crowd was too thick, so she nudged her trunk under an empty table and headed for the front.

It was even busier near the bar, but somehow she managed to squeeze her way to the front. A bald man with a toothless grin was manning the bar; he was the one she'd seen outside.

"Excuse me!" Sidney called, trying to be heard above the crowds. "Hey! Can I use your phone?" She waved her arms.

"Pardon?" The bartender finally noticed her. "What's that?" 

"Phone!"

"Ah! Follow me." The bartender waved his arm, directing her to head over to the side of the bar. Sidney obediently pushed through the crowd. The hallway behind the bar was much quieter and it was easier to hear. The carpet yielded softly under her tired feet.

"Don't get many requests for the phone," the bartender smiled at her. "Who on earth would be calling at this late hour?"

"I need a cab." Sidney said, "And a hotel. Do you have a phonebook?"

The bartender shook his head. "Sorry Lass, never had a use for one." He pointed to an alcove in the hall where a battered telephone was set into the wall, "But I can point you in any direction you want to go. Lived in London my whole life."

It was worth a shot, Sidney mused. After all, who better to ask than a local?

"Can you tell me where I can find The Leaky Cauldron?"

The barkeeper stared at her, and then laughed, shaking his head. "You're already here. This is the Leaky Cauldron."


End file.
